Poetry | Stories | Photography
A room with a few.
Amber light slowly lightens
as the voices begin to sing.
Different notes and different voices
intermingle to create a unique sound.
Amber light is no more
as the voices sing the chorus.
A room with a few
seems to hold so many as we
imagine this unique sound.
Her, my dream
a dreamed-up face
hers is the face of my dreams
charcoal stacks and grime
industrial revolution chimneys
her sleeping face is calm
when she is awake, I think soot
broken by her beauty
too young for her blizzard soul
a dreamed-up face sleeps
when she wakes, who knows
A dissatisfied tree
stands on the old highway
taking many lives.
A tree of no light
feeds on the departed souls
giving nothing life.
Winter landscape deep
we sleep within dreams and love
holding on to sleep
Shells on the sand
no one around today
wave spray lingers
a feeling of love for the sea
cold waves call to me
take me and dash me asunder
small in comparison
the sea whispers unheard words to me
so I sit and listen
my former self would have walked away
I hear the words
not so difficult to hear when you listen
The shipwreck makes its way
into the shallows of the seawater.
Warm currents stir and move
her many walls and parts.
She becomes part of the sea,
as a reef forms upon her shell.
Crabs scurry, fish dart to and fro,
Coral colours dance, glow, and grow.
She sits still, waiting for her
crew’s fate, to become the sea.
Separate rooms, Separate computers
two Separate lives under one roof
Thinking Separate thoughts on this day
From Separate thoughts, I revel in naivety
Separate thoughts come together
The Separate Holy Land is peaceful, united
Separate peoples divided by their beliefs
United in a humanist daydream
We are in Separate rooms with Separate lives
Separate peoples divided and stained in blood
The misty lake in the morning,
waiting for the chill to subside.
Watching and thinking about you
Wondering where your heart
has gone; is it still with me?
Thinking back to times before
technology made communication
so easy. When written words
delivered by post meant the
difference between life and death.
Sounds are few yet soothing,
as the lake seems reluctant to
give up any of her secrets.
Thinking this must be my way,
as you deny me even a text message
while playing the heartstrings.
Moving as the mist leaves the lake
exposed to my gaze, scrutiny.
Just like me, the lake is exposed;
waiting for the heart tune to stop.
within the deep dark
hold on to the thoughts of moss
tingly arctic feet
The trees loom softly, wise, silent, judging.
The ground sounds under hollow footsteps.
The way is long, and the night moves in
until only the moonlight lights the way.
Shadows of many unknowns deepen,
yet fear does not live in this soft place.
The trees know someone walks among them,
they live and understand, so I talk as I walk.
Talking to the trees on the way to her,
telling them all of my secrets in hope.
The trees move as if my story is enough
to convince them that I may pass through
the forest and find her alive or dead.
I do not care. I must find her and tell her
I did my best;
that this world is wicked and cruel, yet here
she is safe from harm.
The trees know the truth of my heart, her heart;
they wait for the final sigh, then the emotions.
I crumble. She is dead.
The forest moves within me in ways I never knew;
I am home with her. She and I will go to that place.
C & K 